(As for the last, it's a cheap newspaper stamp. In classic messages, they are never green.)
It infuriates me especially when they explain hallucinations by contact, which, as we know for sure, was physically real. People who should have fought on our side are tempted by the talk that visits and abductions are just a consequence of unusual mental states, blah blah blah, which, when properly studied, can open new horizons in our ideas about the work of the brain, blah - blah blah ... What is this, if not the embellished version of the same "he was crazy, but she invented everything"? Although of course, it cannot be denied that some people really invent such things. I hate these scammers.
A large, oblong indicator in the very center of the Mackay panel poured red light, and a quiet buzzing beeped. Actually, I keep aloof from the general fascination with electronics, but that was pretty obvious. The guy spotted a passing car, which, apparently, was exactly the one we needed. At the moment, he was supposed to pull out a large sign with the inscription "ROUND" from the wet undergrowth. Soon the quiet village road will become even quieter. I always put off putting on a deathly pale mask until the very last minute - it is too hot and uncomfortable in it. Lights flickered in the distance, approaching us. Glass, too, was supposed to see these ghostly reflections among wet trees.Perhaps soon they will find a new meaning for him - now or in retrospect, since Mackay has already clicked the first of his switches. Did you hear a quiet hissing behind the noise of the engine? We needed to achieve a receptive state of consciousness.
Classic UFO contacts on night freeways begin with mysterious lights appearing at the top, and the car's ignition is inexplicably chopped off. Often this is preceded by the experience of “time lapse” or even “alien abduction”. We, of course, were going to take care of this. With a second flick of a switch on Mackay's panel, a beam of quartz-halogen lamps (actually attached to a cable prudently thrown between two tall trees on either side of the road) flashed with blinding light in the sky, and with the third, Glass's ignition mysteriously turned off.
The heavenly deities, of course, control the forces beyond our capabilities - but their servants here, below, have to resort to earthly means. I think that a priest can feel something like this when he distributes bread and wine, confident that they embody the truth, but at the same time doubting that the miracle of turning into blood happens in reality, as it was in biblical times. Mackay's partner in London did his job as it should: a relay in the high voltage circuit and a small cylinder with a servo-controlled valve under the driver's seat. Of course, it is the signal from the first switch that cuts off the fuel supply.
Longstead-42 is a transparent and almost odorless psychotropic agent used to provide a sufficiently susceptible state of consciousness. His action does not last long, but Glass was still shaking, almost helpless, in his frozen Volvo when we put on our convex masks and approached him.
The sequence of events, bright and enhanced by a mild hallucinogen, should have been imprinted in the depths of his memory ... all the more so since he had previously been theoretically familiar with the subject. His own mocking studies were now supposed to amplify the impact of what was happening. I tried to make the injection carefully, but there was no need to hide this injection especially carefully. Inexplicable scars and traces of injections are often included in classic descriptions of abduction cases.
The guy's motorcycle, with its headlights turned off, coughed near the gate when we drove Glass, supporting by the arms, to our carrier ship. Mackay touched his handheld console, and a pulsating stream of colored lights danced in a huge inflatable plague. An inflatable tent is a great thing for such work, despite the quiet hum of the compressor; there was even a vestibule, which played the role of a lock chamber. Personally, I found this sight deeply exciting. If only ...
He did not resist when we stripped him and laid him on the lookout table - as unearthly as our resources could allow. For Glass, this place was supposed to be filled with piercing supernatural light - thanks to a few drops of atropine, to the limit expanding both of his pupils; and strange little Creatures hung over him. The guy, who also put on his mask and white leotard before joining us, was already quite stunted, and the deceptively high table made us all dwarfs, as the fog rising from dry ice made it difficult to find out how far our legs actually stretched . Truth always depends on how you imagine it.Our masks of the color of window putty swelled up into the domes, talking about powerful intelligence, while we ourselves looked out through huge eyes made of dark glass.
And so we set to work, following the directions set out in millions of published posts. Similar phenomena are described in detail. Mackay and I had already had a long time practicing on volunteers of both sexes and now acted in concert. Biopsy, tiny incisions. Needles stuck in Glass's navel, fluid oozing into his ear, surreal alien mechanisms that blink and squeak, not perceiving and not registering absolutely nothing. The intermittent dizziness caused by chemicals created tears in the flow of his memory (partial amnesia is a very characteristic feature). Nagotov also had a map of the starry sky to show him - a chaotic scattering of points devoid of any meaning, on which he would subsequently be able to impose any value he wanted.
His mouth opened. I realized that he is ready. Why did he express his disgusting skepticism so loudly, if not because he was already close to believing, and was only expecting a sign? The taped messages of the world and millennia-old warnings poured over him in a stream - voices turned by the computer into mystical spells befitting the messengers from distant stars. He will never be able to say with confidence that all this is nonsense, that people abducted by aliens (albeit in quotation marks!) Simply seek to attract attention with the help of delusional fantasies.
The culmination of the procedure was the terrible Probe - an object that played a significant role in one of the tales of contact / abduction, which at one time was sold in almost more copies than all the others combined. This is a large ugly object resembling a phallus that GR Giger could have painted in a fit of biliary mood: thirteen inches long, distantly triangular in cross section, gray and scaly, crowned at the end with an uneven wire cage (in reality the barrel was made of painted fiberglass).
This is an absolutely necessary part of the experience - the abducted person must feel how the probe penetrates into its anus. Of course, we relied on the power of suggestion: after we showed him the object and turned it face down to impede his visual perception, I was actually going to introduce my finger to him. The rubber glove smeared with petroleum jelly was already on my hand.
However, before the probe took effect, a hitch occurred. When you have a mask on your head, it's not so easy to see what is on the right or left. We just turned off Glass again to allow ourselves a short respite and a cup of tea from a thermos ... and then there was a kind of obscure sound. I began to eagerly tinker with the mask, and at the same time I felt a short sharp pain in my thigh - perhaps some stinging insect.
When I finally pulled this stuffy thing off my head, I saw that Mackay was lying on the floor. A fog swirled over him. At first I thought that he must have accidentally sniffed a shut-off substance. Everything around was somehow vague, the walls of the tent flickered. The guy smiled at me. It is hardly possible that the mask could smile.
I told him to remove this stupid thing - I do not know if I had in mind a mask or a smile. He suggested that I do it for him, and although at first I extended my hand to him, seized by blind anger at his stupid games, I was suddenly overcome by the fear that if I touch this huge head, there will be living flesh under my arm. No. I said something out loud - perhaps it was some kind of non-existent word. What is that over there? Is Glass's body melting as it flows down the table? No ...
Then I have a memory gap. Partial amnesia is a very characteristic feature of such situations. Everything around me was leaning on me, now it was floating out of focus. I remember that I felt another bite, and this time I realized that it was a needle. By this time, I was already pressed to the cold damp fabric
of the tent floor, coughing in the artificial fog we created. Persistent fingers tugged at my white, skin-tight, alien costume.
Inside my skull, everything was swirling, developing into crowded chaotic images, among which a silly insistent concern fluttered - was the syringe properly sterilized? I myself always approach this very conscientiously ...
What did I know about this guy? This was his first exit on business. I almost never met him before. They can take any form of their choice.
These eyes.
He said ...
I can't recall everything he said. This scopolamine cocktail is specially designed to confuse. A thin voice informed me that we are playing a dangerous game. He repeated more than once: "My sister." I thought about sister planets, about sister ships that shine with silver, which make inertia-free turns and teasingly dodge the radar screens. He said: “At the institute” [69]. Maybe he was referring to the UFO Research Institute? At another moment, he said: “You are bastards,” and then: “did all this with her,” and then again: “I waited a long time for the occasion ...” The words of the heavenly gods are always mysterious - perhaps he wanted to say that we are just collateral a branch of their civilization ...
It was very difficult to keep thinking. Everything mixed up in a single red spot of pain, because after that - apparently, in order to better capture in my mind that he was talking seriously - he very roughly applied the Probe. And here there was no longer talk of suggestion or the finger of a rubber glove smeared with petroleum jelly. “This is for her. Do you hear For her. "
Have I heard? At that moment, I could not appreciate what was happening as an exciting, transcendental experience. I am sure that no chemical agents contributed to the loss of consciousness that followed immediately after him - although not as fast as we would like.
Waking up, lying on a cold polyethylene spread in the mud, with a body tormented by cramps and another, even deeper pain ... this is not an experience that could be recommended to anyone. The "guy" has long been hiding. I did not recognize his name - if he even had any name on our Earth. I tried not to seek solace in the discovery that Mackay had also received a warning - to the smallest detail as expressive as myself.
Under the sullen gray moon, we somehow limped through the cleaning procedure, leaving Glass to sleep in his miserable Volvo, now also “undressed”, having lost all the devices of our London colleague. When he regains consciousness before dawn, it will be an awakening to a new membership in the ranks of the abducted aliens who survived the “time lapse”. Will he announce what happened to him, or will he lie in silence? However, who cares? Glass no longer mattered.
Truth is what matters. After a long recovery period, during which I tried to stay in the background (even my once friendly family doctor showed terrifying callousness in relation to the nature of my injuries), I now see myself in the position of a secular priest, who finally received his own sign. But this sign is similar to the mysterious appearance of the face of the Virgin Mary in the sink of the toilet. This is a thing of this kind, with which you can attract the attention of ordinary people: for a person, it can mean a lot, but for a big world this is just another cheap everyday sensation.And for this clouding of water, I blame those people who compose catchy tales of contacts with UFOs, never having experienced a real encounter with them, similar to the one we achieved to Glass. Oh how I hate and despise these charlatans! Not much less than the most narrow-minded skeptics.
And besides everything else, how can I hope to publish such a truth and hope that someone will believe in its very special status? When They finally, in glory, radiantly descend from the stars with all their wonderful burden, how can this help me to take my rightful place among the elect? Than?
Hiromi goto
A story from the depths of the chest
The questions you never asked may be the most important thing in the world. You never thought about that. It didn't even occur to you. When you were little, your mother told you that if you ask too many questions, you may have trouble. Now you understand: without asking them at all, you ended up in the same boat floating on the same river of crap, but without the same oar.
You call your mother's intercity to tell her the news, and she says: “Well, minus the minus doesn't always give the plus, dear,” and shares with you the dessert recipe published in the September issue of the Royal magazine as the prince's favorite dish Charles.
Your success in breastfeeding depends heavily on your own desire to do this, and no less on the encouragement you receive from the people around you.
Brinkley, Goldberg and Kyukar, “Your Child's First Journey” (© 1988, 2nd ed., P. 173).
“Well, does anything come out?”
He looks with curiosity at the baby's head, at my breasted bed. I shudder.
- I do not know. I can not tell.
“What do you mean, you can't say?” This is your body, right? That is, you should at least feel something!
He scratches his head.
- Nothing. It just hurts.
- Oh! - He blinks twice. - Sorry. You know, I'm very proud of you.
The placenta slips between your legs, like the largest blood clot in your life. A newborn girl, still wet after giving birth, has enough strength to suck - but unlike a deer or calf, she cannot immediately get on her shaky legs. You will have to carry it in your arms for a long time. You console yourself with the fact that at least you are not an elephant, otherwise you would have to walk pregnant for almost a year. Over the next twelve hours, this is the first and last time she feeds.
“Nanny, please, could you come up and help me wake her?” She had not taken her breasts for five hours.
A nanny has a mole on her face with protruding hairs. You cannot resist lest you keep your eyes on her at least for a short time each time you look at her face. The nanny undresses the child, but leaves a hat. The girl is red and wrinkled, she wriggles like a worm, and you hope that none of those who come to look at her will say that she looks like you.
“The baby is just too good,” the nanny tweets. “In addition, they are sometimes too tired after giving birth.” You know, for them it is also hard work!
“Yes, you are probably right.”
- Sure. Oh yes, and when you go to wash, I would not leave the child alone. Especially when the door is open.
The nanny begins to fiercely rub the red child until she begins to writhe, keeping her eyes still closed, adamant in her determination to continue to sleep.
- What do you have in mind?
“Well, of course, we have security, but anyway, anyone can come here - they will take and take the child away,” the nurse smiles, as if she was just joking.
- Are you serious?
- Ah, of course! And valuables should not be left unattended either. We already had problems with theft, and I know that your sister has good cameras.
You just went through twelve hours of hard work, and you haven't slept twenty-eight. You do not have enough energy to point out to the nanny the inappropriateness of her remarks. The girl is still sleeping.
Your mother-in-law came from Japan to visit you, and will stay for a month to help you with the oldest child. She looks at the sleeping girl you hold near her chest. You complain that the girl is not eating properly and that you are starting to worry a little.
“Your nipples are too flat, so she's not comfortable taking her breasts,” she says, and your eyes are filled with evil tears.
- You are probably from Tibet? The nanny asks.
Breast milk is a natural, fresh product.
“Your child's first journey” (p. 174).
Are you at home. You asked if you could still stay in the hospital for a little extra, but you just laughed in your face and said no. Your mother-in-law is preparing lunch for herself and your first-born, but she offers you nothing, because she does not know whether you will like how she cooks. You eat some crushed wheat with Nutra-Sweet and try again to give the girl a breast.
The pain seem
s quite natural and fresh to you.
The girl sucks for three hours in a row, and when you make her burp, a pinkish foam appears in the corners of her lips, looking like a strawberry smoothie. You understand that there is blood in your milk, and you doubt whether she should drink it. Secretly, you hope that it will be harmful to her, and you will inevitably have to stop breastfeeding her. You call your friend and tell her about what it hurts to feed you, about blood, about your concern for the girl's health - and to your disappointment, you learn that the blood will not harm her in any way. That your friend also had such problems that she even formed bloody blisters on her nipples, but despite them, she still continued to breastfeed, and the doctor approved it, and ohhh! whatpain and blood, when these blisters burst, but she still continued to feed until the child was four years old.
The Place Where Page 43